Starlight
by Daring Dashwood
Summary: Merric stared at the stars blankly, seeing but not seeing. He breathed deeply. Once. Twice. If anything, he could do this for Elice.


Starlight

AN: Based off of my personal experiences/thoughts when I played through Shadow Dragon. I've been reading a lot of shonen manga lately, and it clearly shows in the rather cheesy dialogue bits in the battles. Oh well.

* * *

The conversation around camp was muted, as it usually was the eve of a great battle. This would be their most harrowing skirmish yet, and the likelihood that the Altean League would not suffer any losses was slim, even with Lena and Maria doing all they could to heal the wounded as fast as possible.

The sudden death of Tomas, not a fortnight ago, lingered thick and sour in the night air. There was a mutual, unspoken agreement between the entire camp to give Gordin's tent a respectful berth. The skilled sniper had taken a liking to his fellow archer when the latter was first liberated from his jail cell. Though Tomas was by no means an abysmal archer, he had missed his target more frequently than Gordin had been comfortable with. And thus Gordin had taken Tomas under his wing, assisting Tomas with his accuracy in the brief moments of peace they were granted before their next campaign. And when there was no free time to be had, Gordin simply made do with what he was given, sticking close to Tomas in battle when he had the chance, bellowing out advice in order to be heard above the clashing of weapons, shouted spells, screams of agony and fury.

But no amount of coaching could overcome Tomas' frailty, and before Gordin or Maria or Lena or _anyone _could get there in time, Tomas was impaled on a paladin's lance. The combined magics of Lena, Maria, and even Merric were not enough, and Tomas left them to join the esteemed ranks of soldiers killed in action. After burying his body, Gordin had closed up completely, even quieter than when he had been trussed and gagged by the enemy, all that time ago.

So it was with a heavy heart and a sober mind that Marth approached his dear friend, Merric. The mage had situated himself on a grassy knoll, slightly removed from the large central fire that Cain and Abel had built earlier that evening. The stars were numerous and bright enough in the sky to read by without excessive fire light; the mage was bent over an elfire tome, mouthing some of the jargon as went along, tracing the edges of the paper with nimble fingers.

At the sound of the prince's footsteps, Merric glanced up, his smile small in light of the circumstances, but still there. He inclined his head in deference.

"Sire."

"Merric."

Marth sat down beside him. He was comfortable with Merric in ways that he simply could not be with others. He'd known Cain, Abel, and Frey just as long as he had the mage, that was true; but with the cavaliers there was always an almost tangible wedge between them and him out of their respect for their superior. Merric, a lord himself, was never quite as phased as the others by Marth's status. To boot, he was definitely more easygoing. Certainly, when the situation demanded it, the young man could be as serious as a heart attack. But usually, Merric delighted in telling atrocious jokes that made the maidens titter and the men groan in agony. Marth had always admired his warm personality.

"Was there something you needed?" Merric placed the tome aside, propping himself up on his elbows to look his lord in the eye. "A joke, a riddle? Perhaps a story? Why, I remember this one time Julian and I decided to—"

Marth waved away his idle chatter. "There is something I need from you. Badly."

The grin slipped from Merric's face completely at his tone. He immediately straightened so he was sitting properly. "Anything, sire, you know that."

Wordlessly, Marth pressed a tome into Merric's hands. The mage trailed his fingertips across its gilded cover, mouth agape. Although as of yet unopened, already it hummed with energy eager to burst forth.

"Is this…?"

"Starlight, yes."

The larger meaning behind Marth's gift slammed into Merric harder than the butt of an axe. His mouth grew dry.

"You're…you're asking me to..."

"Yes."

Merric stared down at the book numbly. He'd fought tons upon tons of soldiers of all types and sorts. He'd combated cavaliers, knights, pirates, fellow mages, even dracoknights, but this…this was…

"Merric, there is no one that I trust more than you to fulfill this task. The one thing that can pierce through Gharnef's dark magic is Starlight. I cannot wield it; I have no aptitude for the magical arts. Believe me, my friend, if I could use it myself, place only myself in such severe danger, I would do so gladly. But I cannot. I need you, Merric, now more than ever. Falchion must be reclaimed; Gharnef must be stopped. Only you can do this."

Merric swallowed hard. He dropped his gaze from his prince and flipped open Starlight to a random page. The words streaked across his mind, so bright he couldn't hold his stare for more than but a moment before he had to shut it again. There was such power, such knowledge contained within the tome. The thought of facing Gharnef became a fraction less frightening—a very, very tiny fraction, mind you—and his resolve hardened.

Merric looked at Prince Marth.

"I can do it. I _will _do it."

The lord's eyes were alight with gratitude as he clapped Merric on the shoulder. In such a state, Merric believed the young man might have even hugged him, were there not others milling about not too far away.

"Thank you, my friend. Thank you so much."

"Hey, don't thank me until after I actually do it, alright? You'll just jinx me now." Merric joked and smiled but inside his heart was beating against his ribcage, trying to break out and leave for a new body, a more sensible one, because this was _insane_, _Merric _attempting to kill _Gharnef_ and even with such a powerful tome _there was just no way_—

"Marth!" Ceada's voice rang throughout the camp.

"That's my cue." The prince rose, brushing stray grass from his tunic. Merric didn't see much of a point in doing so; the thing was torn and filthy anyway, and wasn't it humorous what the mind notices when it's under stress? "I'll be sure to knock on wood to stymie that jinx." Marth was saying. He started to leave, then stopped, turned back. "I really am thankful. And I know you will be able to do it."

"Marth?!"

"_Coming, _Ceada! Honestly, that woman…" He muttered, before striding off towards the strategy tent, leaving Merric alone with a maelstrom of emotions and one hell of a task.

Merric turned back to look at Starlight. Sure, he had answered his prince with confidence, but could he actually do this? Could he…really do this? Reclaim Falchion for his prince—no, king? Defeat one of the most disreputable sorcerers of all time? And suppose he did manage to defeat Gharnef. What would happen to Merric himself? What if power poisoned his mind? What if he won by sheer chance, and others assumed he possessed a power he did not have?

The old man should be the one with this heavy responsibility, the one with Starlight in his hands, this was his fault anyway, a small part of his brain bleated. Merric quashed the thought instantly. There was no room for bitterness or panic in his heart, not now.

The possibilities—should he fail or succeed—stretched on and on. Merric placed the tome beside him on the grass before easing himself back on his back. He had spent the hours before Marth approached him wondering who would die next. He had never truly considered that it very well might be he himself.

Merric stared at the stars blankly, seeing but not seeing. He breathed deeply. Once, twice.

If anything, he could do this for Elice.

* * *

It took some of the newer recruits a few moments to reorient themselves after being warped by Gotoh. Merric smirked a little at the sight of Xane and Beck staggering about arm in arm like a couple of drunks. The wimps. Though they had indeed been warped quite a large distance, Gotoh's magic had cradled them, ever so gently, the entire trip. If every other thought of his didn't revolve around Gharnef, he might have had time to fawn over such beautiful mastery of the teleportation arts.

Thankfully, the white sage had thought to transport the company in the city streets, outside of Thabes' temple, where they knew Gharnef to be. Once all the soldiers had sufficiently recovered, the prince ordered the forward march, and onwards they went.

It was only when the western entrance to the fortress came into view that anxiety started to slick his palms. Merric breathed deeply, trying to exhale all the bad nerves and jitters. His friend Linde caught his eye before squeezing his sweaty hand. He managed a tremulous smile as thanks.

"Alright men, let us review the plan for a final time." Marth's voice was quiet in deference to the proximity of the Dark Pontifex and his henchmen, but it carried well in the empty night air.

Prince Marth, who believed that routines before battles calmed soldiers, always told the Altean League the plan of attack both when they first set out to march and right before they plunged into the fray. The prince wasn't wrong; it did soothe Merric, if only a little. He let the orders wash over him.

"Cain, Abel, you two are the swiftest. You are to climb the stairs as quickly and safely as possible, picking off any archers you encounter so that our fliers can advance. Minerva, assemble a team of your choosing to support them from the rear. Draug, Gordin, plant yourselves on the staircase that leads from the ground floor to the first, and do not let anyone past you. Julian, as always, protect Lena as she goes about her duties where she is demanded. Palla, Catria, Est—one of you must ferry Merric to Gharnef's location, where he shall duel him for Falchion. The other two shall protect Merric and his ride. Merric has the only weapon capable of harming him, so I urge all of you to not confront Gharnef alone. Now, Darros, I want you and Linde to…"

Marth continued to rattle off orders until every soldier's name had been spoken and assigned a duty.

"Now, remember," The prince reminded them as he always did. "These commands I have given are not absolute. Do what you must to ensure victory, but do so wisely." He paused. "Tonight is one night we none of us shall forget. It is the night we take back our rightful treasure the Falchion, the night we liberate my sister, Princess Elice, from her shackles. Fight hard, fight well. Onward!"

At his command they pushed through the west entrance, splitting off into their smaller, assigned groups. Est helped Merric to sit side-saddle next to her on her pegasus. He watched her eyes track Abel until he and Cain disappeared up the stairs, until even the clattering of hooves upon stone faded. Merric noticed Palla was staring as well, and so did Est. Merric fidgeted. Gods, this was why he preferred working with the men—they left their relationship problems back at camp (usually).

The sisters were silent as they advanced. The wings of their steeds flexed up and down, a rhythmic _fwump fwump_, _fwump fwump_. It was almost peaceful.

Of course, that's when the world exploded.

"Est, _down_!" Catria screamed.

The girl complied, burying her heels into the pegasus's sides, urging it downwards. She ducked so Merric did, too, and just in time; he felt the sizzle and crackle of magic pass just over his head.

"Mages!" Palla blew past Est and Merric to skewer the closest one. Catria was right behind her, guarding her sister's back as she advanced.

Est hung back in the shadow of the fortress. They had not even begun to ascend the tower and commence their search for Gharnef. They were just mopping up a patrol force they happened upon, and they would shortly be back on their way to—

At Est's gasp Merric's head snapped up. Amidst the flurry of fighting between the sisters and the mages there stood a single man, a tome clutched in one hand, and in the other—

"Take us down there, Est!"

She swooped in low enough for Merric to leap off, before having to immediately speed away again, one of Gharnef's spells licking at her heels.

"Let her alone, Gharnef." Merric's voice was calmer than he felt. "I am your adversary here."

"Oh?" The Dark Pontifex's voice sent shivers clawing up his spine. "It matters not that you have the tome, for I am by far the better sorcerer!" Gharnef's words tore from his lips in a wild roar, deadly waves of Imhullu interjecting his speech here and there. Merric dodged the attacks with little grace as he fumbled Starlight open, its gleaming script cutting through the dim. He wills the words to move, move, _move_—

Gharnef laughed as the weakly cast spell was almost instantly swallowed by the darkness.

"Surrender to me now, boy, and I'll make your death quick. You could not hope to beat me in a hundred years with such an abysmal technique."

Gharnef was on the offensive, pushing Merric further and further back along the stone courtyard, further and further away from Est, Catria, Palla. The mage had managed to rebuttal Gharnef's frenzy of spells with Starlight, but only barely. The dregs of darkness that lingered after each attack began to cloud his vision, drain his hope. Gharnef was too fast, too powerful. He was right. How could Merric ever hope to defeat him? The course of the corrupt sorcerer's magic abruptly changed; instead of attacking Merric head on, it lashed at his knees whip-fast—no time to run, defend, can't—

The blow knocked his legs out from under him, along with his breath. He collapsed on the ground, legs frozen with pain. Starlight was flung out of his grasp, coming to rest at Gharnef's feet.

"No!" He gasped, stretching his arm forwards with all of his strength—if he could just—if he could just _reach_—

The Dark Pontifex stepped on the tome, grinding it into the grime. In one swift motion, he stabbed Merric's still-reaching hand with Falchion, grinning at his resulting cry of agony. He then withdrew the blade, resting it on the side of the mage's exposed neck. Merric felt his own lukewarm blood dribble down to his shoulder.

"I suppose that's it for you, then." Gharnef drew back the blade before swinging it back down to behead the mage, only to be parried by a silver lance.

"Est!" What was she doing? She couldn't confront this man, he'd kill her, too!

With a howl Est began a duel with the dastard, and Merric tried to continue his crawl towards Starlight, his legs screaming out at the slightest movement, his injured hand slipping against the stone. In their last encounter, Merric had been fortunate enough to not be the one to confront Gharnef; this was the first time he had ever been dealt a blow by such strange and potent magic. The tome's original purpose was to negate attacks from a spell, sword, or other weapon. Turning Imhullu on a body altered the spell. It couldn't "negate" his legs, but it certainly tried. So although his legs remained fully intact, thank the Gods, they felt as if they were just one gentle touch away from bursting open.

For all his struggles, the tome still lay several feet before him. By this time, Est had been joined by her two sisters in her attack. Merric watched as Catria managed to get in a lucky shot, nicking the sorcerer's shoulder, causing him to recoil with a hiss.

Wait.

_Wait_.

"That's not Gharnef!" Merric shouted.

"What did you just say?" Said Palla.

Merric shifted, lifting his upper body to face them so they could hear him more clearly. The four were still entangled in their deadly dance.

"That's…that's not Gharnef! Only Starlight can stop him, can do him injury; it must be a phantom, a copy!"

"Enough, boy!" The fake Gharnef surged towards Merric, forgetting the girls in his fury. It was the image's first and final mistake, before it fell victim to a fatal triple-pronged attack.

As the fake dissolved back into nothingness, its eyes never left Merric's. They were dark and wild, and although the mage knew that the thing in front of him was not real, he couldn't stop his body from trembling.

In the phantom's wake, a blade clattered to the stone. Palla picked it up, showed it to the rest of them: it was just a plain steel sword, a far cry from the sacred Falchion.

"He must have anticipated our arrival here," explained Merric. "He could have several copies scattered throughout the fortress."

"So how will we be able to tell which Gharnef is the real one?" Asked Catria.

"Well, we should first assume that the real Gharnef is the one furthest removed from the action. We should scour the upper ramparts first before checking anywhere else. His phantoms should fade if he does. The swifter we defeat him, the better. Starlight only has so many uses before its luster dims entirely."

The pegasus knights all nodded in agreement.

"Merric?" Est wrinkled her nose, crouching down in front of him. "Why are you still on the ground? Are you alright?" Before she let him answer, she was already rooting around in her pouch, presumably for a vulnerary.

Merric started to protest. "I can get one out of my bag, there's no need to waste one of yours on me—"

"Don't be silly." Est interrupted. She tugged the cork out with her teeth before shoving the medicine in Merric's face. "He got in a hit, didn't he? On your legs. I was…talking to Abel about it earlier; he was one of the ones that fought Gharnef before, back in that desert. I know it must be very painful. So just take it. Besides, we might get separated from you during your fight with the real Gharnef. I want to give you the best chance for success, which means you keeping all of your vulneraries stocked up until you really need them. Now drink up, quickly. We must fly."

"…Thank you." Merric downed the vulnerary in one swig, indifferent to its horrid taste after repeated exposure. Almost instantly warmth spread through him, the haze of pain cleared, the howling of his legs faded to a dull murmur.

Est smiled at him.

"Better?"

"Better."

He stood then, slightly shaky, but stable enough. Merric returned the empty container to Est, who put it back in her pouch after rising as well. He bent back down to reclaim Starlight, brushing the dirt off of it with his thumb.

Est hoisted herself onto her pegasus, then scooted up a little to make room for Merric. The mage lifted himself onto the steed as well, and once they were both situated, they took off with the other sisters, who had been guarding the pair as Merric recovered.

As they climbed ever higher, Merric scanned the ground for any sign of Gharnef, of his friends. There was some light generated by various torches that hung upon the fortress' wall, but not much, especially not with as far away as they were. Merric could make out little save vague shapes, forms shifting though the dark of night.

He squinted, peering as hard as he could. A sniper was downing one enemy after another after another after another—it had to be Gordin, simply no one was as quick and talented as him with the bow. He must have been on fire, the fury he repressed at Tomas' death now brought fully to the surface. A huge, bulking form was beside him, its lance reflecting off the torchlight. Draug was still by Gordin's side, it seemed. Good. Merric then saw a flash of red hair—Lena? Maria? Xane? Minerva?—before the pegasus knights flew higher still, and the shadowy figures shrank to scurrying ants.

At long last they reached the front lines, the easternmost side of the highest level of the fortress. Cain and Abel were still up and fighting, though the latter seemed to be favoring his one arm over the other and the former was blinking blood out of his eye from a head wound. Palla shot to their side to assist them with their skirmish against several mages. Est pulled a face, as if she yearned to do likewise, but knew her duty today was solely to support and protect Merric. Lena crept up under the cover of the two paladins and the one pegasus knight, healing them from behind. From somewhere behind him Merric could hear Darros swearing up a storm as he fought, as per usual.

"Merric!"

The mage turned from the group to see Linde of all people sprinting towards him.

"Fare you well?" He asked. "Have you seen Gharnef? We thought we had him, but the man turned out to be naught but an illusion."

"I encountered a fake myself. I thought I was going to die. Imagine my surprise when Aura managed to wound him." Linde struggled to relay the information quickly and still be heard over the din of war. "The only place our ranks have not covered yet—to my knowledge, anyway—is the westernmost edge of this level of the temple."

"Much thanks, Linde." Merric shouted back to her as Est started to urge her pegasus forwards, Catria pulling up by her flank.

"Good luck!" Said Linde, and though she might have said something else, it was swallowed by the wind as Est climbed higher and higher in the atmosphere to avoid the range of Gharnef's mages and archers.

Palla joined the group shortly, and it wasn't long before she was pointing at a location back on the ground.

"There he is! I'll go for him straight on. Catria, you cover me and do away with his toadies. Est, you and Merric sneak up from behind."

After she rattled off the rather simple battle plan they dove into action. Merric blinked the moisture from his eyes as they hurtled downwards at a breakneck speed.

When their approach was spotted, Gharnef's stooges fanned out, forming a wall in front of their master. With a savage cry Est barreled through them, her steed even kicking one of them in the head with its powerful hind legs.

Merric jumped off the pegasus for the second time that night, skidding to a stop directly behind the Dark Pontifex. He tried not to be unnerved by his proximity to the fearsome sorcerer. It was senseless to attack from afar anyhow, if your enemy wielded magic as well.

Merric threw open Starlight. Though it was a bit dimmer after having seen some usage in his battle with the copy, its light was still bright enough to catch Gharnef's attention.

As the wicked man caught sight of Merric his lips curled.

"Insolent fool! You could not defeat my weak phantom—and yet you _dare _to attempt an attack on me?"

Imhullu shot from his fingertips but Merric was ready this time, Starlight bursting from his palm, banishing the darkness.

"I will not fail. When I fought before it was not strength that I lacked, but will. You warped and engorged my self-doubt and used it as a weapon against me. But not again!" Merric called forth a barrage of attacks, each stronger and brighter than the one before it. This time, he was the one on the offensive. He would not fail. He would not falter. For Altea. For Marth. For Elice.

"Your control over the light magic is all but nonexistent," Gharnef snarled. "To assault me whilst being so painfully weak; you must place no value on that life of yours."

The pair continued the volley of dark and light magic, the flow of their battle slowly sequestering them from the others. There would no help from the sisters this time. Merric would have to win on his own, even as Starlight's power drained with every use.

"_Enough_."

Gharnef abruptly drew back, summoning a mighty wave of Imhullu. This was it. The Dark Pontifex was finished playing, and was about to deal the final blow if Merric did not act swiftly.

"Starlight!" Merric beseeched the tome, Gotoh, the Gods, anyone, to empower his counterattack.

The spells met halfway to their destinations, and Merric staggered back at the resulting flare of energy. Nevertheless, he did not halt the rush of magic exploding out of his palm, not even for a moment. He had to win this duel.

The Dark Pontifex threw his head back, cackles torn from his throat. "No ordinary mage could ever hope to defeat Imhullu at full power. It's over."

"Thankfully…I am not…ordinary!" Merric managed to gasp out. That's right. He wasn't ordinary. He was a student of Wendell, one of the wisest men he has ever known. He was a trusted friend of Prince Marth, who presented him with Gotoh's Starlight, though there were many other mages in their party. For everyone, _because_ of everyone who had ever helped him to reach where he was now, he had the power to triumph over evil.

As if this realization was all the encouragement it needed, Merric's spell grew brighter and brighter until it was blinding, and even Merric had to turn away.

When he opened his eyes again, black spotting his vision, Gharnef still stood before him. But his head was bowed, his body crumpled over itself.

"Agh! What…Where did you get…such strength? Still, you are a fool…Your power is not enough to defeat Medeus…" Gharnef lunged at Merric, his gnarled fingers digging into the mage's shoulders. Merric froze, petrified, as the dark sorcerer leaned in close, and his last words slithered out.

"I shall be waiting in the pits of the inferno…for when he sends you to join me…Heh heh, ha ha ha!" His maniacal laughter soon degenerated into a hacking cough, his blood flecking Merric's face. And then even his wheezing juddered to a halt, and Merric stepped backwards lest the corpse fall on top of him. Gharnef did not get up again. A bit childishly, Merric nudged the man's hand with his foot, but Gharnef remained steadfast in his decision to be actually dead.

It was over, it was over, it was finally…over.

Tension Merric hadn't realized he had suddenly drained away, and he sagged against the fortress wall, boneless.

After a handful of heartbeats, he shuffled back over to the body, which, although had seemed so terrifying in life, looked so small and pitiable in death. He looted it of his reward, Falchion.

Everything around him seemed to still, the clamor of war, muffled. His entire world centered on the sword he held. He must have been trembling because one moment he was touching the blade in wonder and the next he was bleeding. The blade cut his palm so silently, so smoothly he would not have noticed anything at all had he not been staring right at Falchion, seen the sudden splash of red against the metal. That would not do, not at all.

Life was starting to pick up around him again; Merric's mind unclouded enough to inform him it would be a wise idea to protect his back whilst he was cleaning the sword. Agreeing with the thought, Merric leaned against the wall again as he tore off a strip of his cape. With it, he carefully wiped Falchion before binding his injury with the small scrap of cloth. Though it certainly smarted, the wound was so slight, it was not worth the healers' time right now—he'd ask Lena later, once the fighting outside the fortress came to a close. It was a silly thing to squander a vulnerary over, too.

A sudden swirl of blue and then there was Prince Marth, breathless, wide eyes flicking from Merric to the sword in his hands and back again.

The mage kneeled before his prince, offering up Falchion to him.

"It is yours, sire."

Marth accepted the sword, and Merric watched on in avid fascination as Falchion seemed to gleam and glow, as if overjoyed that it was finally in the hands of its rightful owner. Merric imagined Marth felt the same as he had when he opened Starlight for the first time, just last night.

Prince Marth beamed at him, and for a split second Merric could swear he saw light, as pure and bright as Falchion's, emanating from the lord himself.

* * *

-Fin-


End file.
